Just me
and a fifth of ***
which i bought at the grocery store
with the very last of my paycheck
which was the last of my paychecks
three weeks ago.
Just me
and a fifth of ***
sitting in this apartment with the
blank white walls, cracked ceiling,
and giant ****** furniture I hate
with a passion.
Just me
and a fifth of ***
In anticipation I unscrew the cap,
but I can't bring myself to drink it
so I slowly pour it down the drain,
every last drop.
Just me
and a fifth of ***
or at least the shell of what had been.
Poor bottle, you look so lonely now.
Come, sit next to me, and we can be
empy together.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 12:23 AM UTC
Why do people
carry umbrellas?
I wonder as I pull the
hood of my sweathsirt
over the messenger cap
that covers my day-old hairstyle.
Rain bounces from
the synthetic-wool weave
on the bill of
that messenger cap
missing my face by a longshot.
So I walk
upright and smiling
to class
in the rain
while people cower under their umbrellas.
Silly people.
Buy a messenger cap.
Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 12:11 AM UTC
the bedslats creak to the beat of
my heart and
with no other heart to beat against
mine, its sound i loathe-- not
that i'm unglad of its existence; for
each beat calls (it silent, yells
seeking its other) to be met to be
shared-- for none seem to hear it
but my tired and distractable ear
only
in its silence ever will i rest
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 7:22 PM UTC
sometimes you get caught up
you swear you'll be the one that doesn't
but you still do
and you don't even realize it
working at your dreams
so hard they're not dreams anymore
they become just what you made them to be
work
and you're trying
so hard
to reach
that happiness
which you know is waiting just around the next bend
that you forget about the joys
of the here
and now
the days run together
you plow your own path through the wilderness
not seeing the buds
of possibilities crushed
and brushed aside
as
you
continue
on
your
way
then-
one day you're back on the main path
and you see a familiar sign
pointing
the
way
home
soon you arrive
stepping inside the doors
of a place to which you swore
you'd never return
and you find yourself sinking
into the most comfortable seat
like its been yours every day
the path-weary traveler falls away
and its you
bare
and plain as the day
because right in front of your eyes
you see what it's all about
work forgotten
duties aside
your dream in its truest form
and it seems
almost funny
because it's so
obvious
limitless
real
now-
you can turn around
and jump
right back into it
but what was once a blind struggle
is now a level-headed
r e a l i z a t i o n
dreams are
real
i can do this.
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 12:22 AM UTC
there she stands in a skirt and heels
pretty little wallflower
a sheepish grin and a request
he smiles his twisted smile
and winks "no problem"
and they walk and they talk and
hours pass
happy little wallflower
she says excuse me but
he knows her too well already
her quietest struggle revealed
no choice but to trust
silly little wallflower
days pass and they're together
deeper and deeper she falls
one night she panics and he turns away
more days pass without a word
a passive moment, now her life
simply passes by
stupid little wallflower
she sees him with other girls
he doesn't stop to think
and weeks have gone
she's almost moved on
another man approaches
fickle little wallflower
sweet manners, kind gestures, he's
genuine, friendly, she wouldn't mind
giving it a try so she goes to visit
and the first is there
pleading "stay with me"
pitiful little wallflower
her foolishness her downfall
she recedes from each
the wallflower all again
minutes pass and she finds herself alone
with him a curtain's breadth from humanity
heedless little wallflower
he calls to her, she stays reserved
he calls again and she has no hope. she is his
they lie together, she is only content
even knowing it can never last
pathetic little wallflower
every moment put to memory
he walks away without a goodbye
and still she smiles
her pretty little wallflower smile
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 12:15 AM UTC
my heart is on fire
but my skin is like ice
i cannot stop the trembling
i have to get out of here
a hot shower is perfect
for getting you off my mind
but the water is cold
my whole body protests
surely the freezing stream
will warm up soon
i stand there trembling
trying to forget you
an hour i wait
chilled to the bone
it gets no warmer
i cannot remember anything
except your hands
your lips your neck
my body screams in protest
as i cut the stream of water
and emerge to find
no towel on the rack
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 12:04 AM UTC